Who's to Say
by Safely Away
Summary: Beatrice Prior is successful and lonely. Secluded in her own self-wealth. Tobias Eaton is a self-sufficient woodsman who is content with what he has created. When an untimely storm causes them to coincide evidently, tempers flare and feelings arise. But there is a tension that must be resolved, one way or another… Au


_A/N_

_Hey everyone! My first attempt at a divergent fic. What was supposed to be a oneshot will be a total of three chapters. I hope you all like it! Reviews are very well appreciated_

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Tris checked her watch for seventh time in the past five minutes.

He was late again.

She blew out a puff of air from her lips in frustration and began to tap on the table in the booth where she impatiently waited. Her overgrown nails tapped out a pattern of a song she was all too familiar with and her eyes wandered around the small diner she frequented. She shed a small smile as the heavenly aroma met her nose. She loved this place; a considered break from the hustle and bustle of the office where she worked. This was supposed to be a lunch break, but she had already turned away the waitress twice, insisting that her companion would arrive any moment, but that was twenty minutes ago.

She checked her watch again.

It was humiliating sitting alone; she was grateful the booth concealed her small frame. She glanced around again spotting only a few people dining at the table scattered across the room. No one was really paying any attention to her, which she was glad for. She suddenly got irritated, if she was not worth his time than she would be sure not to waste any more on him. Tris slid out of her seat to leave, but as soon as she reached for her purse, the diner door jingled signaling that a new customer had entered.

Or a boyfriend.

Tris's eyes wandered over to the newfangled clangor the door created and his eyes met hers at the exact same time. Fresh from work and clad in his polyester suit, he turned his blue tooth off and gave her a guilty smile.

Albert rushed over to meet her as she stood with arms crossed, a scowl etched on her features. She didn't cease her actions as she continued to gather her things from the booth. With a coat on one arm and her purse in her hands she headed for the door, ignoring him completely.

Albert blocked her, an apologetic frown on his face. He stretched his neck to kiss her but she dodged him. He sighed dramatically. "Look, let me explain." He begged.

She chuckled lowly. "Here we go."

He looked at her incredulously, hands placed on his hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She laughed darkly. "It _means_ here we go, with the same old excuses you always want me to believe." She placed her purse gingerly on the table and hurriedly put on her coat. "Well I don't have the time for this and frankly, I don't deserve it." She had enough bullshit for a lifetime from Albert.

Albert started to panic, his calm and collected bravado faltered dramatically and he seemed to stutter on his words, ever so slightly. "Oh come on, sweetheart, you know what you mean to me." His usually suave tone sounded oddly small and squeaky.

Tris scoffed and turned to fish her car keys out of her purse. "Oh, what- other than your trophy woman?"

She said it loudly and the waiters began to stare at the scene with rapt interest. Albert noticed and tried to conceal the argument discreetly.

"Beatrice, stop- you're making a scene." He whispered.

Keys in hands, she glared at him; her voice venomous. "Do you even love me?"

Albert smiled nervously and rubbed his neck. "Why don't we just sit down and talk about this, like the rational adults we are." He grabbed her arm and guided her into the booth but she shot up persistently.

Her nostrils flared and she was sure her face was twisted into a snarl. "Did you even hear what I just _said?_" Her voice was brash and the room suddenly turned quiet. So much so, that the silverware clanging against the plates could be heard. Everyone in the diner stilled and faced the angry couple.

"_Do. You. Love. Me_." Tris annunciated every single syllable in the phrase, barely suppressing the urge to strangle the man across from her. Albert clearly looked uncomfortable in the present situation; stares made him squirm and he almost always had to put on a fake show for people to be entertained by.

Albert's mouth opened and shut like a fish on land and after ran a hand along his face. "If I say yes, will you relax?" He finally said.

Tris stared at Albert for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating him. What had she even seen in him to begin with? Aside from his wealth and his stature in society, there was nothing she really appreciated about him. His personality was a joke; as fake as the words he uttered from his mouth. And he could never differentiate lust from what he thought love was. He was conceited, manipulative and egotistic. And that day if any, proved that he was incapable of love of any type of positive feeling.

Finally, she smiled tightly at him. Grabbing her purse and her keys, she scooted out of where she was seated in the booth and told him:

"You are _fucking pathetic_. Don't ever come near me again."

She then proceeded to head towards the exit but halted. It happened in less than a minute. Tris spun around and eyed the chocolate malt shake on the counter. Rushing towards it, she clutched it in her hand and poured it over Albert's absurdly large head.

Gasps of indignation were heard around the room and Albert was a sputtering mess. She then swiped a finger over his head and stuck it in her mouth. Humming in delight, she then turned to the counter where the waiters stood, dumfounded.

"He'll pay for that." And she left.

**LINE BREAK**

Beatrice felt empty.

She bounded the carpeted steps of the building warily dragging her feet. It was eerily quiet that particular day, save the building service workers adjusting the light fixtures alongside the walls. The idle chatter they exchanged and the tolling of the creaky bulbs was strangely comforting after what she had just been through. But that was to be expected; in this section of Philly, only the rich and successful thrived. These apartments in particular were created to be up to the standards of those in the higher sector of society. From thick, velvety red carpets that lined the floors in the halls to the walls streaked with a refined ivory and periwinkle. Chandeliers descended from the beaded crystals creating an elegant atmosphere for the residents. But luckily, Tris could afford the luxury; her position in the companies she was employed at made sure of it.

The men heard her approaching and turned to face her as she passed by. She gave them a fatigued smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and they returned it, going back to their conversation. She lost the deep voices as she traipsed to her door.

With a sigh, she reached into her bag and brought out her key. Placing it and wiggling it in the lock, she pushed the door open and once inside, closed it and locked it behind her; then leaned against the door frame as her head hit the wood with a thud. Her purse dropped from her palm and the key followed to the tiled ground. She slid to the bottom of the door, drawing her knees into her and let her elbows rest upon them; her head fell into her arms as her eyes shut tightly together.

She decided to let out a scream.

A very loud scream.

And then she was still and defeated and lost. Completely and utterly lost in abandon. Why hadn't she seen this earlier? In the previous stages of their relationship. They'd met through meetings when their companies had adjoined for newer and better quotes. And he had waltzed in and taken her completely by surprise. She fell for him. Hard. He made her feel important, like she was imperative to his life; she realized all too soon that she was only significant in his social standards, essential to his success for all the wrong reasons. Beatrice Prior was wealthy beyond comprehension due to her family heritage. She was an heiress of the sort, from a long line of senators and governors; government officials and social dictators. Well known among the states, she was hardly someone to be overlooked. Tris had her fair share of lovers throughout the years, but she could sense the falsehood of the relationships, thus ending them rather quickly. With Albert, however, she was blind to his antics; he concealed his tactics well enough, well enough to surpass even her.

Maybe it was the physical part of their relationship that blinded every other aspect. Albert wasn't ugly but wasn't much of a looker either. Somewhat overweight and potbellied; but Tris didn't mind it when she was screaming his name when his head disappeared between her thighs. And he didn't seem to mind her angular, childlike figure when he took her from behind. The side. On top. Emotions were nothing compared to fucking.

And boy, did she feel dumb.

Dumb enough to partake in this game that he was so desperately trying to win. She shouldn't have been imprudent to dismiss his thoughtless comments and off handed personalities when out of the public eye.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_!

With an outbreath, she arose, leaving her discarded possessions among the floor and dejectedly clapped her hands. Around her, the apartment came to life; the lights dimmed accustoming to the natural light flooding through the large windows lining the champagne colored walls. As she crossed the threshold, her stilettos echoed through the corridor and bounced around the large room. She glanced around, grateful to have the luxurious furniture ravished around the place; unlike others who were blessed with the power to indulge, she was never one to bask in the riches surrounding her. She had found it rather insolent and quite juvenile to flaunt her privileges to others who were less fortunate than she. But it would be a remiss to say that she wasn't appreciative of her circumstances.

She finally reached her intended destination: the kitchen. She left the diner dismayed and anguished no desire to eat. But now, her stomach demanded attention as it grumbled in acquiescence. She shuffled through the kitchen absentmindedly, searching for something to snack on until she spotted a tub of chocolate ice cream. With a hum, she burrowed through the drawers for a spoon, slugged to the parlor, and sat atop of a sofa. Her mind was unattached to her body and she felt numb as she reached for the remote and flipped through the channels; settled on some kind of dopey soap opera. And as she dug into her comfort food and the screen flickered in front of her, Beatrice felt alone. She had come to terms with what had happened. With her family back in Oregon and her brother finishing his studies, she felt entirely alone. And she hated it; the vulnerable feeling she was submerged in.

She cried.

**LINE BREAK**

"What a jackass! A moronic, idiotic piece of shit!" Christina yelled from the other end of the line.

It was the evening, dark out. After her sobbing fit, she finished her tub of ice cream and changed her attire into something more comfortable and fitting for someone of her mood. Clad in slacks and an oversized shirt, she prepared a meal for herself whilst speaking to her best friend. Tris wanted to laugh at her friend's indignation, given the situation she only sighed. She had called Christina a little while after her fit, crying to her about what had went down at the diner, how she shouldn't have been so susceptible to his methods, how she had dated him in vain.

Her friend had gone off.

"You know, I always knew something was sketchy about that guy. He always flaunted you around like he was your little house bunny; it was sick. _He_ is sick!" she continued.

Tris knew she had been the one who had phoned her, wanting to talk about her former boyfriend, but now, all she wanted to do was put it behind her and forget him; as it was only upsetting her even more so.

"Can we just, not talk about this anymore?" she whispered through the speaker.

There was a silent pause.

"Of course we can, hon." Her friend responded solemnly. For a moment, there was just the sound of the knife slicing through the zucchini atop the cutting board.

"So," Tris began, breaking the silence. "How are you feeling?"

Christina scoffed. "Pregnant."

Tris rolled her eyes and a smile splayed on her lips. "Obviously."

It was her friend's third, and from what she'd heard, final child she had with her husband Will. They had all been friends from college and were still very close. Tris had been the maid of honor at their wedding, the godmother of her first born, and even though there were a few miles between their neighborhoods, they called and visited each other frequently.

"Sick, tired, swollen…like everywhere." Christina said, exerting a laugh out of Tris. "But Will has been amazing, like always. I am so grateful to have him here." She finished wistfully.

Beatrice felt a pang at that statement, she had always been jealous of what they two of them had. The love that they shared seemed unreal and so difficult to find in men she had been with. She was twenty six now, and more than capable of providing for herself. She could pay bills and mortgage fees without fault; money was of no issue, but someone to share herself with was one. More often than not, she found herself, restless as the insomnia overtook her.

Tris turned her attention back to the meal she was whole-heartedly preparing. Carefully, she poured the veggies and meat into the saucepan to simmer in the melted butter and thick sauce. Once in, she began to stir around the contents around with the lengthy wooden spoon held in her hand.

"And how are the kids? Excited for the new baby?" Tris asked, referring to her friend's two small girls.

Christina snorted. "Does giving me anxiety count as being excited?"

Tris smiled, using this sentence as a cynosure in the conversation. "What'd they do this time?" Her friend's children were twins of stark contrast but were known for the stunts they often pulled. The resemblance between the toddlers was uncanny, but they had no lack in wits. For three year olds, they were adept of anything and everything which most likely meant trouble beyond their parents' comprehension.

Christina groaned through the speaker. "What didn't they do? Wiley refuses to give up her old crib, even though she's in love with her new big-girl-bed; it's in perfect condition and we aren't wasting money to buy another one."

"And Marlowe," she continued. "_Oh god_, Marlowe. Will and I gave her this baby doll so she could transition easily to the new baby coming; it's supposed to be-"

"Therapeutic." Tris finished for her.

Through the phone, Christina waved her hand around dismissively. "Yeah, well we hand her the doll and at first she starts coddling it and brushing it's hair and it's cute. But then, she starts hugging it too tightly and then she begins to choke the doll. _Choke it_. And the worst part was that she was totally unfazed, laughing even!"

Tris couldn't hold in her laughter any longer, she barked out, shaking her head. The image of a cackling toddler with a frazzled Christina and Will was too funny.

Christina was incredulous. "It's not funny! My three year old is a future delinquent…"

Rolling her eyes, Tris responded. "I'm sure you'll survive one way or another."

Christina then hummed, more to herself. "Always the morbid one…speaking of morbid, when was the last time you came to see me? I'm pretty sure it was before we were expecting."

Her playful tone indicated otherwise, but Tris knew that her words were truthful, so much so that it stung. She had been so self-indulgent lately, whether it be her career or her previous failed attempts at any relationship, she hadn't visited her best friend for a while.

And she felt bad.

Hesitating slightly, she spoke. "I know, I'm sorry…" she had no reason to estrange from one of the only people she had left that really cared for her. And whatever excuses she did have were pitiful and selfish.

Her friend chuckled. "Hey, don't beat yourself up over it, sweetie. Why don't you come over tomorrow? Everyone's dying to see you; plus…I've got a little somethin' somethin' to show you."

Tris clucked her tongue as a slow smile spread over her face. "Uh-oh…"

"What? I swear I won't try to set you up or anything- yet anyways." Her friend was vehement.

Tris sighed, shutting off the stove and bringing the plate of food she prepared to the table. "I suppose I don't have a choice, do I?"

There was squealing and laughing on the other end of the line, and there was this certainty that Tris was definitely getting in way over her head with something unexpectedly planned. But there was also this certainty that she would always have someone to abide in, someone she could trust. Come hell or high water or gold-digging boyfriends, she always had Christina, and that was something that would never cease.

**LINE BREAK**

True to her word, Beatrice arrived at Christina and Will's residence, eyeing the tricycles and abandoned toys lying on the front lawn. She rang the doorbell and a moment later was almost knocked over by the sheer force of toddlers whom she whole-heartedly adored. Followed by a heavily pregnant Christina, trudging blearily towards the door, and then came a worried Will, tending to his wife's every need.

The day went by quickly, to their dismay and between accusations from weary girls in need of naptimes, to the drowsiness that came along with the blessing of carrying a child, the conversation they attempted to uphold faltered. But her friend did manage to inform her of the surprise that had awaited her upon her arrival.

A brochure.

"It's amazing!" Christina had raved.

Tris furrowed her eyebrows in uncertainty. Flipping through the advertisement, she read carefully, her eyes threading through the words and sentences. It was about hiking. Back when she was in grade school, in Oregon, hiking had been something fun to do for her and her family. To get away from the prying eyes of the world and do something together. She continued it through college, but when work had proved to continually demand more from her, each and every day, it stopped.

But now, she could make the time, she had that type of power in the position she was in. in addition to those days off she turned down time and time again, Tris had all the time in the world. She needed some time off for herself; she had to focus on herself. So she took the offer.

The details were explained to her while bouncing a child on her knee and spoon feeding her what looked to be applesauce. And soon after she left the vibrant household, she then proceeded to visit a local sporting goods shop – the address via Christina –on the other side of town, a slummier, and more family oriented part that of which was nonetheless beneficial.

Once her vehicle was parked in a lonely lane, she had to take quite a trek to find the store. Fresh from her last day of work before said vacation, she didn't think to change out of her former attire and into something more leisurely, and aside from getting strange looks from soccer moms and homeless men, she had cursed quietly to herself after stumbling over overgrown grass and weeds in her stilettos. After walking blindly with the address in hand, at long last, she found it and _god_, was she going to kill Christina.

Tris wasn't one to judge things based on the outlooks but this place looked like a dump. The exterior was a mixture of wood, or brick or _something._ A brown-stone red colored the walls and blurred with god only knew what, door was the only entrance and only exit. Weeds upon weeds upon weeds surrounded the carbuncle building, and there was insulation hanging from the sign that was further up than it should be. _Eaton's and sons Hardware store_, it read. And Tris stood there, in front of the pathetic, ugly shop that her trusted friend enthused over, debating on whether or not to enter.

After what seemed like an eternity, Tris slowly stepped towards the door and used the piece of paper to pull open the door, the bell jingled behind her as she entered the place, and as she tucked the paper in her suit jacket she took in her surroundings.

She stuck out like a sore thumb.

The place was far from baronial and not even close to appointed, save for the vomit-stained carpet that was fraying at the edges of the walls. Upon entering, Tris saw the entire room in one look. There was only one cash register present which looked to be very outdated, atop a wooden glass case with what looked to be baiting liners and hooks lined in rows. Throughout the shop were shelves upon shelves lined with various tools and various equipment. No signs or aisle numbers were hung to differentiate what belonged to where for what purpose, and the wooden, cabin like walls did nothing to help. Frames of men and women hung from them and many with fish the size of her numerous high heels she had acquired over the years. But the place had a strange yet comforting aura to it; may it have been the fireplace in the back, despite it being uncharacteristically warm for winter, or the country music playing from the lone radio behind the booth. And it appeared that she was the only one present in the store.

Yes, it was a long-shot from the regular Dicks Sporting Good's shop she had grown accustomed to over the years, but it would have to do. It didn't deter her from her goal of finding what she needed and getting the hell out of that place.

Unhurriedly, Tris began to weave in and out of aisles searching for the accoutrements she so desperately needed, as soon as she spotted a sleeping bag, a voice startled her.

"Can I help you?" he stated.

Tris jumped at the sudden noise, no matter how calm it sounded. With a hand over her heart, she whirled around to face him, a scowl etched on her features.

"Jesus, you scared me," she mumbled.

The man shrugged, "Sorry, not my intention."

Shaking her head, she flicked her manicured hand. "It's fine, whatever." Returning to the shelves, she scanned her eyes up and over the item, and then grabbing it in her hands, her eyes never left the object when she spoke. "How much is this sleeping bag?" she asked. For a dingy store, they did sell quality equipment; it was a wonder how they were not so regal.

The man behind the counter sniffed. "Not for sale."

Tris blinked.

"I'm sorry, not for sale?" she questioned. Her eyes finally met those of the man she spoke with.

The man nodded, slowly. "Yes. As in, you can't buy it." He was toying with a fisher line and it seemed to only fuel Tris' anger.

Instead of placing it down, she clutched the object tightly against her chest and stared him down. He was handsome. More so than anyone she had been with. She most likely settled with men who weren't so they would match her.

She was intimidated by him.

And she hated it.

"Fine," she hummed, and then stepped over to her right as a fisher line caught her eye. She grabbed it and held it up to where the man was looking, unabashedly, straight at her. "What about this? How much?" she questioned. She was then answered by the shaking of his head.

"That isn't for sale either."

Tris blinked again.

She licked her gloss stained lips and pursed them with narrowed eyes. "So what exactly _do _you sell?" she all but hissed at him.

The man didn't bat an eye. "Everything in this store."

She hated games and she simply didn't have the time for it. Vexed, she crossed her arms with items in her hand- which proved to be quite difficult –and stood there, heels planted in the carpeted ground. "So you mean to tell me, that the items in my possession are currently not for sale, but even though it is present in the store, you cannot sell it."

He nodded.

She sashayed to the desk where he continued to play with the hook line, contentedly, and clicked her nails against the glass. His eyes met hers once more. Dark orbs of blue that raged her. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"You want to tell me as to why I can't purchase this item?" she quipped. "After all, this is a store. You know somewhere people can shop for things in exchange for money?" She knew she was being unkind, but at that moment, she really didn't mind it.

He quit using the line as a plaything, gingerly placing the object under his desk, and folded his hands together. "Ma'am, that item is only for show," he said.

Tris ceased with her nail ministrations and looked at the man with complete idiocy. She then gestured all around the store before back at him. "What, so are all the other miscellaneous things on the shelves, with no price number may I say, for show too? I mean, what's the point of this place if you're not selling anything?" She was abashed with incredulity; there was no stopping her now.

The man behind the counter was as calm and collected as ever, which irked her even more so. "We have a stockpile in the warehouse with the items you see on display." His deep voice was tinged with a hint of amusement.

Beatrice blinked again; inwardly cursing herself for getting into such a tizzy over something she didn't think through.

And Tris was mortified at her stupidity. What kind of customer would really think that a store wouldn't be selling things in them? Wasn't that the entire point to a store? She couldn't help but clench her teeth when a rose color supplanted her pallor. Blushing in front of a striking man who had caused her troubles was last on the list of things she could do without, but finding her voice, she forced down her embarrassment.

"Oh," was all she could muster up at the time; her voice sounded tiny and she hated that feeling of inferiority to anyone, especially an intimidating clerk's man and stranger. "Very well, do you have any available?"

"Yes ma'am."

The man wordlessly crossed over the threshold and to a door that Tris had somehow missed, and pushed open the vault, nodding for her to follow.

Once inside, her scowl quickly turned to one of awe. The room was a colossal mass of items and boxes, organized neatly and respectably in their respective orders, certainly not what one would have expected from such a tiny and unkempt shop, or so it seemed in the front. Presently, she was rather astounded at this find.

In her state of wonder, she didn't notice the man turn to her and wait patiently for her say until he cleared his throat, that is.

Tris turned her attention to him, momentarily forgetting her place, but she quickly recovered, fishing out her list of required gear and handing it to him. As they piece of paper was transferred, their hands skimmed and even at the slight touch, her eyes met his once more. Her cheeks flared again for unknown reasons, sure she knew he was attractive; it was as obvious as fish who swum in the filtered water of her fishbowl in her penthouse, but she did not like him. She needed to get what she wanted and leave before her subconscious got the better of her.

Yanking her hand back, she straightened her suit and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. Adjusting her stance, she placed her balance on one leg; her heels were beginning to chaff her feet.

The man stalked off into the aisles, gathering the necessities she required for her weekend outing and left Tris to her own devices; what she handed him was a very lengthy list, and despite previous moments, she found herself bored in a rather untimely fashion. Glancing around, she found to what seemed to be a solid box to sit on so she seated herself atop the surface.

For a minute, there was only the sound of footwear against concrete and sliding objects as the man searched, quite efficiently for her desired thing. It was a long and awkward one as well, and she could tell by the number of things she has written on the paper that it would be a while before she could leave.

She should make peace and apologize for that mindless scene she had created just a minute ago. But her pride always gets the better of her in every situation, and she isn't one to just admit her faults and ask for forgiveness just like that, aside from whatever she may have said or done. She was incredibly stubborn and it was a trait she neither appreciated nor hated.

"So, you own this place?" Tris was just as surprised as the man was when she uttered those words from her lips.

There was a beat before he answered with a lame "Yup."

She recalled the aged photo of what she thought to be him and his father, when he was just a child. "You and your father?" she inquired.

The man stilled for a second, she couldn't see him with all the shelves as barriers, but she could sense she hit a weak spot. All was quiet for a moment until he began to sift through things once again.

"Nope," he replied.

She furrowed her brows in confusion and spoke before she thought; a rare occurrence. "But the sign on the building says 'Eaton's and sons Hardware Store' and I'm assuming you're the son, shouldn't there be a father involved?"

She was aware of how she sounded, noisy and insolent. She hated pestering people, so she couldn't understand why she suddenly became one. And the look that the man gave her after coming out of the shelves with an item and adding it to the pile she wanted, it clearly stated what she pondered was very true. Regardless, she continued to snoop.

"You're right," the man said. "But he's incarcerated at the moment." His tone was vague and mocking, Tris decidedly looked over it.

She knew she shouldn't have gone any further, but she did.

"What'd he do?" she pried.

The man retorted with such vehemence, she was slightly frightened. After all, she was in a warehouse, in a dingy little shop, on the other side of town, with a complete stranger who she didn't even know the name of. If she were killed by him, this would be the last place anyone would think of searching for her at.

"It's not really any of your business, is it?" he had said.

She had looked down at her lap. "No, I guess it isn't." She could have replied with a snarky remark, something that would hurt him, but she didn't. She figured that she'd done enough damage to her reputation. Some first impression she had bestowed upon herself.

Then the silence returned.

She began to nod off to the familiar sound of scuff marks and squeaking wheels in need of an oiling when her cell went off, quaking her awake and warding off all of any type of sleepiness that clung onto her. Thankful the man at the counter hadn't seen her jerky display, Tris fished out her cell, failing to sneak a peek at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Beatrice?"

The phone went dead.

That's because she hung up.

No way, no how, not in Heaven or in Hell was she going to answer to an asshat like her ex-boyfriend. All of the unwanted feelings, all of the hatred and longing and self-loathing she felt towards herself and Albert came back in a rush. She struggled to breathe as her phone lit up again, and this time she checked who the caller was.

The oxygen seemed too thin in the air around her and her heart rattled in her chest with a speed so rapid, she could feel the thumps against the cavity walls. With shaky hands and sweaty palms, her hands clutched the phone against her ear.

"What the hell do you want," she snarled.

"I just want to talk," his voice was remorseful, but she refused to acknowledge his tone. He was done earning any brownie points from Tris.

"Yeah? Well I don't," she bit back.

A groan was heard through the phone. "You're being completely preposterous. We've been together for several years, and we're just going to throw it all away over one, senseless argument?"

Tris didn't trust herself to speak, surely the words from her mouth would be far from pleasant, so he continued to talk.

"Sweetheart."

She hated when he called her that.

"Just take a breath, and let's meet for dinner sometime this week. Hopefully you'll have your good sense I know that Beatrice Prior has by then," he finished.

Tris felt like she was going to kill a bitch. And in this case, the bitch was Albert. So she chose her words carefully.

"I don't think you understood me at the diner, Albert." Her voice was low and deadly. "And I don't think you get it. So _listen._ My sense is very well in check, when I tell you this: I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear from you, and I don't want to know you. Stay away from me, don't contact me, just forget about me

Tris didn't wait for a reply before she hung up her cell. She was elated and pissed all at once when she shoved the phone in her purse before she did something stupid like throw it at the concrete floor until it shattered.

A grunt brought her attention up to the bemused Clerksman with raised eyebrows.

_Shit. _She thought, _shit shit shit_

There was no way he couldn't have heard her conversation and she had momentarily forgotten that the clearly vast space had the power to echo whatever sounds were made. And it was obvious by the way he was smirking that he heard her conversation.

"Trouble in Paradise?" he asked nonchalantly.

Tris' eyebrows were wrung together. "Hardly paradise," she responded. She stood from where she sat, the blood rushing to her head. "Are you done?"

He nodded once and gestured to the equipment, he bent down to pick up the boxes.

"I can get them," Tris stopped him.

The man stared at her. "They're heavy."

Tris stared back. "I can get them," she repeated.

"It's my job."

"_I can get them."_

He gave up, running a hand through his dark hair. He shrugged. "Fine, have at it."

Tris slung her bag over her shoulder, bent down and heaved the boxes into her arms, only to be weighed down by their density. Again she tried and again she went down. She couldn't believe she was caught in another situation where she looked like an idiot, and mentally kicked herself before turning to face the man who once again, wore that mocking smirk on his face.

Tris was stubborn, but she swallowed her pride and asked him for help and he complied, leading them both out of the storage room and into the front.

Once he was behind the counter, he typed onto the cash register buttons, one item by one. Again this process took a while and again Tris took a seat on a rusted chair.

She was still pissed as hell about Albert calling her and how stupid she had been that day in the store so when the man told her the total of her items, she stood up to pay, more than ready to leave. To go home and curl herself up in the numerous amount of blankets she had and sleep.

Tris handed the man her visa card, but without even looking up he said, "We don't take that here."

Tris stood, dumfounded. "Okay," she said flatly. "Here." She took out her master card, but before she could even get it out of her wallet, he rejected her once again.

"We don't take that either."

Tris felt a familiar irritation bubbling up beneath her skin as she whipped out another credit card to pay for her items.

"Not that either."

Tris took a deep breathe to steady herself because at the rate she was going, she would have high blood pressure issues. "Fine," she spat. "What the hell do you take."

There was a pause as he finally looked up to meet her eyes. "Cash."

Tris had had enough.

With one quick movement, she had thrown down her purse, went around behind the counter and cornered the man into the shelves behind him. With her face beet red with fury and a finger at his chest, she felt deadly.

The man remained eerily calm.

"What the _fuck _is your problem?!" She yelled.

When she didn't reply she continued. "Why do you keep playing these stupid mind games with me? You couldn't have just told me flat out you only wanted cash or there were more items in this shitty store?!"

The man clenched his jaw and his eyes were clouded, she hit a weak spot. Good.

"I don't know what your fucking problem is but I can assure you that your quote-on-quote abundance of customers won't be flooding in with the way you are."

She slammed down a couple hundred dollar bills behind her. "Keep the change, you need it." She exclaimed cruelly. After, wheeling the cart with her supplies behind her, she picked up her purse, straightened herself up and upon leaving, hit the door.

She tried again, pushing the door over and over, but it didn't budge.

"Pull," a deep voice behind her said.

She did as she was told and almost ran to her car in mortification. Grumbling to herself, she whipped out her cell and dialed.

When the ringing subsided, a voice answered.

"Christina, I'm gonna kill you."

* * *

_A/N thanx for reading! Chapter two should be up shortly __ reviews are well appreciated and follow me on tumblr! peetamadecheesebu_

_P.S. I know there wasnt alot of smut but trust me, there shall be msut _


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